


As You Are

by GemmaRose



Series: Kinktober 2019 [6]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Body Dysphoria, Body Worship, Comfort, Heart-to-Heart, Hugs, Lactation, Love, M/M, Multi, Nipple Play, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 14:03:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21055625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GemmaRose/pseuds/GemmaRose
Summary: Unicron modded Drift's frame to the Pit and back, while he was captive. Now that he's free, home with his partners, that's something he has to deal with.





	As You Are

Drift shuttered his optics as Rodimus brought a solvent-soaked rag up to scrub at his back, fighting the urge to flinch every time the mesh dragged over what should’ve been a tight seam and instead tickled exposed protometal, a tactile reminder of the changes forced on his frame during his time in Unicron’s lair. Rodimus and Megatron had no reason to lie when they said it had been a stellar cycle since he traded his freedom for Rodimus’s, but it had felt like so much longer. He suppressed a shudder as warm solvent trickled down an opened seam on his back, his processor supplying a fragment of a memory to match the sensation. Hot not-quite-transfluid spurting from a tentacle groping around under his kibble and running down his back in rivulets as-

“Drift?” Rodimus’s voice pulled him from the unbidden recall, and he sucked in a sharp ventilation to cool his suddenly too-hot systems. “Hey, are you alright?” he set the rag down and moved around to sit in front of Drift, hands resting lightly on the backs of Drift’s where they curled tight against his thighs, the armour bowed out and split at the seams and _wrong wrong wrong_.

“It’s nothing.” he forced a smile, turning one of his hands to grip Rodimus’s. “Just a recall fragment.” he steadied his field, and deliberately extended it to twine with Rodimus’s worried one. “You can keep going if you want.” he suggested. This was the most Rodimus had touched him in one sitting since his rescue, and he didn’t want it to end.

“Drift...” Rodimus frowned, moving his other hand so both of his rested on the hand Drift had taken his with. “You know you can talk to us, right?” he tilted his helm slightly to indicate Megatron, seated in the corner of their berthroom with a datapad. “I know what it’s like.”

Drift couldn’t help the giggle that burst from his vocaliser, or the way his field flared with manic energy. “You really don’t.” he rasped, meeting Rodimus’s beautiful blue optics. “You hadn’t looked like this in decades.” he gestured at Rodimus’s frame, all crisp lines and sharp, optic-catching angles, a slightly boxy but still quite lithe racer frame, one Drift remembered from before Unicron, tucked up in his arms in some random abandoned building for the night. They’d never ‘faced, not back then, but Primus if he hadn’t fantasized about just that when he was fresh to this planet and desperate to uphold his end of their agreement.

“So tell me.” Rodimus lifted Drift’s hand with both of his, optics huge and pleading, field almost painful in its earnestness. “Tell me what we need to do to make you comfortable with us again.”

Drift laughed again, the sound high and hysterical as Rodimus’s hands tightened around his own. “It’s nothing you can _fix_.” he spat, the glyphs coming out sharp and bitter. “Not unless more of that magical reversion synthblend shows up.” his armour clamped down tight to his frame, but all that did was make him all the more acutely aware of the spots it didn’t cover anymore, split seams and missing panels feeling painfully exposed. “Unicron fragged up my entire frame, I couldn’t win a fight if I tried.” the parts of his helm which had been sawed and bent to more resemble Rodimus’s stung, suddenly, and he ducked his helm with a hiss. “I don’t want you two forcing yourselves to love me when my frame isn’t even my own, isn’t the one you loved me for.”

“How shallow do you think I am?” Rodimus asked, horror and offense strong in his field.

“Well I think you have optics.” Drift huffed, training his optics on a bit of floor near the curtained entrance to the berthroom. He couldn’t transform like this, couldn’t outrun even Megatron with his balance so horribly thrown off by the oversized fuel-heavy breasts hanging from his chest.

“What, precisely, do you think is unattractive about the way you look now?” Rodimus asked, scooting closer, field open and earnest as ever, an open book for the reading.

“Don’t make me say it.” Drift forced out through gritted denta, armour clamping down again.

“You’re right.” Rodimus nodded, shifting up onto his knees. “It doesn’t matter what you think we don’t like about your current frame, because whatever it is, you’re wrong.” Drift’s optics snapped to Rodimus, and he froze as gentle lips pressed light against his own. “We love you no matter how many mods we’re helping you try to get rid of, because we love you all the way down to your spark.” Rodimus laid a hand on the exposed protometal of Drift’s chest, just above his cleavage. “Isn’t that right, Megs?”

“Of course.” Megatron looked up from his datapad with a small frown. “Unicron’s a monster of a mechanical lifeform, but he has good taste.”

“Good taste?!” Drift gestured at himself, at the myriad mods Unicron had forced on him almost as soon as Rodimus was clear of his range of immediate influence.

“Well he wanted the two most incredible mechs I know, so he at least has good taste in that.” Megatron cracked a smile, setting down his datapad and rising to his pedes. “As for the mods.” he strode across the room and leaned past Rodimus, hefting one of Drift’s breasts in a single combat-roughened hand. The texture felt wonderful against the sensitive protometal, and Drift has to manually stop his fans from spinning up. “I must say, usually it’s Rodimus who’s being ridiculous. Why would a mech like you be rendered unattractive by these?” he squeezed gently, and Drift couldn’t help the flare of lust in his field or how his valve dampened at the stimulation. Rodimus swatted Megatron to make him remove his hand, and Drift bit back a whine at the loss of contact.

“Maybe-” his vocaliser shook, glyphs coming out shaky, and resetting it didn’t seem to help. “Maybe because I look like a freak?” he bit out, managing to sound bitter instead of on the verge of tears, which was a success if he’d ever had one. “My armour doesn’t fit right anywhere, my frame’s all lumpy and weird, and my breasts are so oversized and heavy I can’t even _run_ without them throwing my balance.” he pulled his hand from Rodimus’s to wrap both of them around himself. “I’m a speedster, we’re supposed to be light and lean. That’s the mech you wanted to share your berth with.”

Megatron snorted, and Drift yelped as thick grey arms scooped him up off the berth and tossed him up in the air. Megatron caught him easily, cradling Drift against his broad chest, and the smile on his face made Drift’s vents stall out for a hot nano-klik. “Doesn’t seem to me like you weigh as much as you think you do. Your Deadlock armour was heavier.”

“That was _functional_.” Drift argued.

“Drift, has carrying ever affected your view of me?” Rodimus asked, and Drift twisted in Megatron’s arms to stare blankly at his partner. “When I’m at my biggest, or just after when I’m all padded out with protometal and leaking constantly, have you ever once thought that made me look unattractive?”

“Of course not!” he protested, and the rest of his protest died in his vocaliser as Rodimus leaned in and kissed him. It was gentle, not quite chaste, and he leaned after it when Rodimus pulled away with a small smile.

“That’s what you look like right now.” Rodimus said, stroking gently over the layer of exposed protometal on Drift’s belly. “You may not have carried, but you’re just as hot as any carrier post-emergence.”

Megatron set him down, and Drift quickly stepped back away from the berth and his partners, arms wrapping around his middle again. He furled his field tight to his frame, and his spark wrenched in its casing at the look that crossed Rodimus’s face. “Drift, it’s alright.” he said, making a valiant effort to not sound hurt. “No matter how you choose to deal with the mods Unicron gave you, Megs and I are here for you.”

“I would say take as long as you like, but we miss you.” Megatron added, extending his field so Drift could feel the sincerity of his words. “If you don’t want to be intimate until-”

Drift lurched forwards, all but falling into his partners, burying his face in Rodimus’s shoulder. “Please.” he gasped, and Rodimus’s arms closed around him tight without a nano-klik of hesitation. Megatron’s embrace followed, and Drift sagged in their combined hold, soaking up the focused affection from the both of them. His vents wheezed, struggling to keep him cool despite the protometal insulating his frame and the warm air they were cycling, but he didn’t care.

“Love you.” Rodimus murmured, pressing a chaste kiss to the flat of Drift’s finial, clear of the mutilated part. His field reflected the truth of his words, and Drift choked on a sob, curling into his partners’ embrace. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, burying himself in their fields and the pressure of their arms around him, but when he finally pulled away his optics ached from using so much cleanser and his vocaliser felt scrubbed raw.

“Frag me.” he said, catching their hands in his own and pressing the pleas he couldn’t voice into his field. “I need-” his vocaliser seized up, and Rodimus closed the slight distance between them to press a tender kiss to his lips.

“You need it to feel real.” he murmured, and Drift nodded quickly. “I know the feeling.” he pressed gently, guiding Drift backwards to the berth, and a glance confirmed Megatron was following close behind. Drift spread his legs as soon as he was seated on the edge of the berth, Rodimus slotting easily between his thighs, but Megatron pulled Rodimus back with a hand around his waist.

“Perhaps not that sort of interfacing.” he suggested, fingers rubbing little circles over Rodimus’s abdominal armour. “We want the reversion to be as smooth as possible, right?”

Drift nodded quickly. The sooner he was back to normal, the better.

“Then lie down.” Megatron instructed him, and the retort ‘make me’ was on the tip of Drift’s glossa but he bit it back for tonight. He didn’t have the patience right now to endure Megatron making him beg, and the idea of rough hands shoving him around made his fuel pump pick up the pace for all the wrong reasons. “Rodimus, you give better oral than I do.” Megatron gestured, and Rodimus grinned.

“Hey Drift, mutual oral?” he suggested, panel already retracted, and somehow the sight of his unadorned spike was hotter than any of the myriad mods he’d been sporting when Drift reunited with him on Unicron for the first time, including the clear ‘modesty’ panel over the double-valve array he’d been sporting back then.

“Frag yes.” Drift agreed, scooting back on the berth to lay on it properly. Rodimus crawled over him, heat pouring off his frame as his limbs boxed Drift in, and somehow it felt comforting instead of confining. Unicron’s lair had been warm, but the tentacles which kept him bound hand and pede had always been cold. Rodimus’s spike fit nicely in his mouth, the tip just barely kissing the back of his intake when Drift lifted his helm to take it all the way to the base. Petite and perfect, just like Rodimus.

Rodimus’s mouth was warm around his spike when it descended, and Drift groaned as he felt the tip of his spike slide easily into Rodimus’s tight intake. Then Megatron’s hand landed on his plating, and he couldn’t help bucking his hips up into that sublime heat as scarred and pitted metal ran over armour which had been ground smooth. Megatron’s fingers traced glyphs on his plating, Adoration and Devotion and Attraction (carnal), and Drift’s moan around Rodimus’s spike prompted a matching groan into his own array, the vibration sending charge sparking through his lines that, for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, he welcomed openly.

Rodimus pulled nearly off his spike, glossa circling the girth of it as soon as it was physically possible, and Drift bobbed his helm up against Rodimus’s pelvic plating as he moaned again. He’d had more than one tentacle-spike shoved in his mouth by Unicron, even the mech’s own spike once or twice, but none of them had tasted like this, like _Rodimus_. None of them had been so hot they nearly burned his glossa, and none had made such lovely noises as Rodimus made when he sealed his lips around the spike’s base and sucked hard. Noises which felt as good as they sounded, muffled against his spike.

“Enjoying yourself?” Megatron asked as his hands continued to trace compliments against Drift’s plating, roaming his frame as if Megatron needed to re-map it and mark every part with a silent declaration of love. One hand lifted after drawing Love on his thigh, up to Rodimus’s back to stroke his spoiler, and the other continued up Drift’s chassis to cup one of his breasts, hefting it from where it had slid sideways to rest mostly on the berth. The sole advantage of them being so oversized, they couldn’t balance on top of his chassis when he laid on his back, so he didn’t have to worry about them crushing him. Drift shuttered his optics and hummed in agreement, drawing a choked moan from Rodimus as the mech pulled off his spike to kiss and nip along the underside. “Good.” Megatron’s hand left his breast to stroke his face. “Open your optics, I want you to see how much I enjoy what I’m about to do.”

Drift did as he was asked, and Megatron leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Beautiful.” he said simply, and Drift smiled as much as he could around Rodimus’s spike in his mouth. Rodimus kissed back up his length as Megatron slid his hand from the underside of Drift’s breast up to the nozzle, tender and puffy from Rodimus helping him express some of the energon in them earlier. Megatron pinched it, and Drift arched as much as he could with Rodimus pinning him down. The sensation was sharp, sharper still when Megatron repeated the action, and his spike twitched against Rodimus’s lips.

“Don’t you dare overload yet.” Rodimus threatened, grinding his hips down into Drift’s face. “We’re doing this together.”

Megatron rolled his optics, but Drift sucked harder on Rodimus’s spike in answer, dragging his denta lightly over it as he drew his helm back and relishing Rodimus’s strangled sound of utmost pleasure before the mech’s mouth descended on his spike again. “Drift, optics on me.” Megatron said, his voice level, and when Drift looked their optics locked. Megatron pinched his nozzle again, this time twisting slightly, and Drift whined at the sensation, making Rodimus’s hips buck against his face. “Watch me, Drift.” Megatron ordered as he pinched and twisted, back and forth and back and forth, each motion building a pressure in both his breasts. His neglected nozzle ached terribly, and he whined around Rodimus’s spike as he bucked up into his partner’s mouth. So close, he was so _close_.

Megatron bent down, still keeping his optics on Drift’s, and without warning flicked his wrist to tug on the nozzle held so tight between his fingers. The snap of charge that released was the last bit needed to send him toppling over the edge with a cry, and Rodimus only thrust once more before overloading in his mouth, not even enough to choke on. Megatron’s mouth replaced his fingers on Drift’s nozzle, and Drift overloaded again without warning as the pressure suddenly released, warm fuel trickling from his untouched nozzle in hot streams to puddle on the berth.

Rodimus moaning as he drank down Drift’s transfluid made the overload feel like it lasted forever, and when he pulled off and shifted to lie on Drift’s unoccupied side Rodimus gave him a smug grin. “Love you.” he leaned in to give Drift a peck on the cheek, and Drift could only moan in response. His valve still ached for sensation, but with Rodimus’s mouth gone the majority of his processor was on Megatron. Their optics were still locked, Megatron’s half-shuttered and dim with contentment, and when Rodimus noticed he revved his engine. “Looks like fun.” he said, propping himself up and looking at Drift’s unattended nozzle. “Primus, you’re making as much a mess as I do.” he scooted down the berth, and Deadlock moaned in earnest as a hot tongue laved up the swell of his breast.

“Lemme help with that.” Rodimus purred, and Drift’s whole frame spasmed as Rodimus’s denta scraped over the sensitive nozzle. He didn’t suck like Megatron was doing, but instead nipped at it with his denta and laved his glossa over the entire area around it, the thin and sensitive spot that was more sensors than bare derma.

“Too much.” he gasped, and Megatron sucked harder, catapulting him into another overload. He wailed, helm snapping back as his whole frame arced up off the berth, losing optic contact with Megatron as he overloaded hard enough to short half his systems. Megatron pulled off of his nozzle after that thankfully, giving it one last gentle sweep with his glossa, and Drift’s moan was half static as he let himself get pulled against Megatron’s chest.

“Still think we’re lying about you being hot?” Rodimus teased, and Drift shook his helm, letting his systems boot back up naturally. “Good, because otherwise I would’ve had no choice to to keep pleasuring you every mega-cycle until it sank in.” Rodimus settled in snug against his side, and Drift felt a smile against his shoulder.

“Well in that case...”

Rodimus swatted him with a laugh. Even Megatron chuckled, the low sound vibrating up through his chestplate and into Drift’s frame.

“We love you. You know that, right?” Megatron asked after a few comfortable nano-kliks of near silence, the only sound in the room their humming fans and cooling armour. Drift nodded, twisting into his side to hide his face against Megatron’s chestplate. “And no matter what you decide, regarding your frame, you will always be beautiful to us.”

Drift’s spark surged in his chest, strong enough to make his whole chassis ache with the force of his affection, and Rodimus pressed a kiss to the back of his shoulder with another smile, field lighting up with love to match Drift’s. His hand stroked idly over the curve where Drift’s hip and thigh met, fingers tracing aimless curls and squiggles up and down his armour. Megatron’s hand stroked gentle circles on the exposed protometal of his belly, pausing occasionally to trace a glyph on the soft surface, and Drift basked in the affection so thick in their fields.

He still wanted to return to his proper frame configuration, but perhaps it wasn’t the end of the world if he had to take a little longer getting there than he’d originally hoped.


End file.
